Stand and Watch It Burn
by la Morte Rossa
Summary: Just another EC modern tale? Not quite. A story in which a teenage Christine is put in danger when a dark figure from her past returns, and even the Angel of Music dwelling in her school might not be enough to save her.
1. In Which Rehearsals Begin

**_A/N:_ **This is my first phantom story, so I hope it doesn't turn out completely horrible.I'd love to hear critisism and/or praise in the form of reviews!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to POTO.

**

* * *

**_"Moose!"_

_At sound of the high squealed voice, he shifted a bit in his "sleep," carefully opening one eye to cast a glance at the small pouting form of the girl, who was now holding the folds of his sweater in her tiny fists. Unable to resist the shadow of a smile forming upon his face, he caught her eye and she pulled harder on his arm._

_"Moose!"_

_The man sat straight up with a groan, regarding his daughter with an expression she would recognize all to well as his "stern" face, despite the slight twinkle in his warm grey eyes. "Bed," he said in the most commanding tone he could summon. "Now." Apparently, his authoritative tone left much to be desired, for the girl gazed up at her father with wide brown eyes and hesitantly shook her head in blatant refusal. His eyebrow lifted as he regarded her disobedience._

_"Moose?" Her voice asked quietly, pleadingly. Unable to withstand the innocent charms of his one-and-only, he knelt down to gently hoist the tiny girl into his arms and carried her over to her room._

_"Music," he corrected her for what probably was the fifteenth time since she had learned the word. A moment later he sighed. "You win, my darling angel. I shall give you your music, and then you will close your eyes and sleep!" He placed her under the soft down comforter of her bed and offered her an intense stare, which (not to his surprise) she returned. "Deal?"_

_He didn't miss the eager nodding of her head as her long brown curls bounced up and down with the movement. He retreated from her room only to return moments later with the instrument. Seconds later the little girl had closed her eyes and was humming softly to the dulcet melody he produced with the stringed violin._

_He almost hadn't even heard her soft voice when she spoke up quietly, as if whispering a secret. "Is sad?"_

_He finished the song, letting the last note linger until silence eventually consumed it. Placing the instrument back in its case with delicate care, he dimmed the lights and turned to his daughter slowly. "No, darling. The memories are sad." He smiled sadly at her confused and obviously uncomprehending expression, and quietly bid her good night._

_It was only a few moments later when the sound of a ringing telephone and the deafening cries of her father awakened the young girl from her peaceful slumber.

* * *

_

"--stine? This is the part where one _goes through_ the door. Although I can see why you find it appealing. The wood is very...woody."

The young brunette broke her focus to stare confused at the red-headed boy, whose green eyes glittered with amusement. She opened her mouth only to shut it again. The boy quirked an eyebrow and gestured to the large wooden door. "You drifted off again. I found myself entering the auditorium without my extremely lovely yet irritatingly dim friend. Where has your mind wandered now, Chrissy?"

The girl's pale features twisted into a grimace. "I hate when you call me that," she replied simply, focusing her wide brown eyes onto the door in front of her. Rolling her eyes at her friend's impatient cough, she picked at a piece of lint on her black pants.

"Okay, that's enough! It's a _rehearsal_, Christine! For a _high school_ play! You aren't performing at a grand opera house. You're dancing in a local school production that'll probably reduce a classic opera to a fumbling heap of cliché garbage." The freckled red-head shook his head with disdain.

"Nice to see how much faith you have in the cast, Liam." Despite her best efforts, Christine Daaé couldn't resist the smile that spread on her pretty face. Once again, her long-time friend managed to vanquish her fears and ease her tensions with his gentle humor. Happily taking his hand, she walked with him into the enormous auditorium of Middletown's Willoughby Academy. Expectedly, many members of the cast were already scattered among the stage and long rows of seats, chatting eagerly while a select few intently read through the script book for the private high school's latest production.

Brown eyes scanning the scene, Christine couldn't help but listen to Liam's words echo in her head. _...Fumbling heap of cliché garbage._ One of the leaders of the music department raised his voice slightly to get attention. Even as the short and meek instructor raised his hands about, trying desperately to command order among the talkative students, they proceeded to pay him no heed. The girls, it seemed, found much more entertainment in flirtatiously giggling with the boys, who were eager to pay them the attention they wanted. Only the seniors and a few of the quiet underclassmen graciously gave the man attention.

Christine took a seat near the back as Liam waved goodbye and joined a group of seniors behind the stage who were in charge of set decorations. After several long moments, the student body began to silence and watch the man, Mr. Donovan, expectedly. "I m-must remind you all, once _again_, that the first five minutes of rehearsals are to be dedicated to a q-quiet contemplation of one's s-script." Taking a moment to push his spectacles further behind his ears, Mr. Donovan continued. "Now, if y-you will please give you're attention to your directors, Mr. Firmin and Mr. Andre." Only a dull murmur among the students commenced as two middle-aged men stepped on the first few steps of the stage to address the student body.

"Thank you, Mr. Donovan," Mr. Firmin began with a nod. "We hope those of you in the first Act have at least begun to memorize some of your lines, for this production will be moving quite quickly as the spring approaches. We must also remind you all that rehearsals are not a time for socializing if it does not involve the development of the production. Most of you should know that_ Madame Butterfly_ is indeed a tragic opera, and you must all take this seriously in order for its fulfillment to be achieved. With that said, we will begin blocking the first act."

The rest of the rehearsals over the next few weeks went more or less smoothly, with a few exceptions. A haughty red-headed senior by the name of Carlotta, who played the lead role Cho-Cho San, held a fair amount of talent despite her self-absorbed personality. For some reason, the directors tolerated the diva and all her whining and screeching orders, and tended to overly praise the girl's rather overdone singing voice. Though to Christine, however, it was quite obvious why. Carlotta's family donated a generous amount of money to the school (and the school's musical productions) each year.

Christine, on the other hand, enjoyed being just another background dancer as she listened to the diva rant and rave to the directors while those around her rolled their eyes and sighed. Not far away, several members of the choir halted their practice to send a few glares toward the raging diva, before the instructor ordered them to begin singing once again.

An almost wistful expression came upon Christine's face as she watched the school's choir. In general, their voices blended extremely well, but there were a handful of members who seemed to lack any interest in the music. They were the few who would goof off during practice and not bother to learn the lyrics for songs. It bothered her that people would commit themselves to doing something that they had no passion doing.What was the point? Still, Christine enjoyed listening while she did homework in the halls for a few hours until her aunt would pick her up.

Then again, simply listening to them seemed to send her into some state of nostalgia. Perhaps it had to do with her own lack of involvement in music. She had been _so close _to auditioning. She had practiced the piece of music, had sung in front of her aunt and Liam, and arrived to the school.

She had run out less than ten minutes after they arrived. To her relief, her Aunt Annette had not asked questions; she simply gave an understanding and sad nod before driving home.

It had not been just nerves. Here she was, seventeen years old with a naturally pretty voice, but untrained. She remembered watching and listening to all of the other talented students review their scales and prepare their voices with drinks or drops or organize their already perfect resumes, including their previous performances and vocal training.

Here she was, seventeen years old, with the voice of an angel (according to her now deceased father), and she had fled the room. Was it just nerves? To anyone else but her, the situation may have seemed to occur due to nerves.

Her voice was special to her. Very, very rarely, she would sing quietly to herself in her room, where she would try to imagine her father's voice singing along with her.She hardly ever let her voice be heard by anyone else.It had been a long time since she'd last sang, and she no longer had the passion for it.No, she would not sing in any musicals, or join the choir. Her muse died the moment her father did.

Christine seemed to be so engrossed in her thoughts, she barely registered what was going on around her when a loud rustle followed by a crashing noise and screams that reverberated throughout the room.

* * *

"It's the ghost!" 

Christine heard Liam's voice yell from somewhere offstage, where it received fake gasps and snickers.

Meanwhile, Carlotta's screeching howl echoed throughout the auditorium. It seemed that one of the backdrops had fallen upon the diva. But, despite her high-pitched screeches, she did not seemed injured.

"Miss Guidicelli, please, it was simply an accident," Mr. Andre stammered out nervously. "These things..."

"No...no! That's been the fifth incident to happen to me since we've started. 'These things' don't just...happen! Someone's out to kill me!"

"Chill out, Car. Just 'cause you got splattered with paint that one time or ate that weird pastry doesn't mean--"

"Shut up, James!" Carlotta snapped at her boyfriend, who had joined her on stage. She turned her angry glare back to the directors. "Someone's doing this! I don't know who. Probably some stupid immature freshman who can't take reject--"

"Carefully, Carlotta. Don't piss off the ghost!" Liam called out from stage right, causing Christine to finally smile at the rather amusing situation.

"Enough!" Mr. Firmin demanded. "If I hear about this wretched _ghost _one more time during rehearsals..."

"I..._don't...care _if it is a ghost or a goblin or one of your horrible chorus members who's doing this to me!" Carlotta screeched, tears welling up in her eyes. "If this happens _one more time_...I'm gone."

The managers didn't waste any time working to convince Carlotta the event was simply an accident while the rest of rehearsals more or less resumed. Once in a while Liam or his senior friends made reference to the infamous Theatre Ghost, the urban legend of Willoughby's Academy.

Was it real? Was there actually a ghost haunting the halls of the century old high school? No one knew, but rumors were always flying. Christine, herself, found the entire idea absolute rubbish, but she enjoyed listening to the stories (much of which her friend Liam passed around).

"The Ghost!" He had exclaimed, eagerly, after one of the (particularly untalented) members of the school's orchestra was found in an abandoned wing and arrived to practice with a disheveled appearance to announce his resignation. "I was wondering how long it'd take for him to weed out those idiotic freshman who have about as much talent as a dead cat. I wonder what took him so long."

Christine did have to admit the string of odd occurrences and mysterious rumored "sightings" over the past three years were strange. Of course, there wasn't any actual evidence that proved someone else was playing these jokes and frightening students. It may just very well be the crazed ramblings of high school students desperate for attention.

"Liam, you don't really believe that there's ghost wandering around our school, right?" She had asked her friend.

Liam paused, scratching his forehead. "Our school's as old as our great-great-grandmothers, Christine. Who knows what this place used to be before it became a school. Hell, maybe _it_ was here first, and he's just angry that we're living in his home!"

"I think you're crazy."

That conversation had occurred nearly a year ago. Even now, as she sat against a wall in the hallway hours after rehearsal awaiting her aunt, the entire legend sounded preposterous to Christine. Yes, there _were _rumors of mysterious happenings in the vast auditorium, backstage, and even within the hallways of the high school during early morning hours or after school. But to think a ghost was roaming around the halls, frightening students into quitting orchestra and dropping paint cans and backdrops on the musical diva?

She snapped out of her reverie when a loud crashing sound from somewhere in the auditorium echoed through the halls. Hadn't everyone already gone home? Cautiously, Christine put her books aside and approached the door, warily peering inside the darkened room. She was sure the clanging noise had come from the auditorium, possibly a fallen prop or set piece, but she wasn't exactly willing to skip in the pitch black room to find out the exact cause.

She was just about to turn away when she heard a distinct _swishing_ sound from somewhere further in the room.

Her instincts caused her hand to reach for the light dimmer, which she turned on and illuminated the room with soft light.

"Hello?" She whispered rather softly, glancing back and forth as her nerves got the best of her. "Is someone..." She stopped. "This is stupid," she muttered turning. But just as she did, she spotted the cause of the sound she had heard seconds ago. Near the stage, a lone music stand had toppled over and on the floor lay scattered sheets of paper, presumably the script.

_Odd. _Hesitating for a moment, Christine walked to the stage and knelt to pick up the scattered sheets of music, which she found her eyes drawn to despite herself. She recognized the song from one that she had heard Carlotta practicing the last rehearsal, rather dreadfully. With a sigh, she gathered up the rest of the papers, absentmindedly humming the melody of the song.

She stopped mid-line as she felt herself being lost in the soft melody, the abrupt halt cutting through the silence of the auditorium. The music sheets were already placed back upon the music stand. What was she still doing here? She stared down at her hands, which she realized only now had been shaking. It had been a while since she had last let herself get lost in a melody. It made her feel as if...

Not liking the loss of control over her emotions, Christine stood up and quickly headed toward the exit, dimming the lights off as she left breathlessly.

If she had turned around, her innocent brown eyes would have met the fiery gaze that watched her fleeting steps with such frightening intensity.

* * *

**_A/N:_** Does it work? Does it have a serious case of suck? Let me know! 


	2. A Voice Which Calls To Me

Stand and Watch It Burn: A Voice Which Calls To Me

"If you come within three feet of me with that paint can, Liam O'Neil, I will punch you in the mouth."

"Threatening me with violence? Now _that's_ the Christine Daaé I adore!" Liam's merry cackle echoed throughout the auditorium as he retreated a few steps in surrender. "I suppose is serves me right for putting all that wild brown hair in danger with all this sticky blue paint. It'd probably take days to get it out, especially with your unruly forest of curls."

"Joking!" He amended quickly at the sight of Christine's fierce glare as she self-consciously touched the ends of her long curls with her fingers. A few of the other boys painting and building set pieces beckoned to him from the stage, so Liam threw Christine his charming grin and marched back to do his work.

She had to admit, the set pieces were coming along nicely. Liam and the twenty or so paint crewmembers were doing a good job. It was fascinating to watch them turn dreary old wood into a gleaming decoration.

Of course, the fascination wore off after the first half hour or so of watching. Now, Christine had put her feet up against the row of seats in front of her as she studied the intricate detail of the ceiling above her. Well, _this_ was fun. Why exactly had she come? The weekend was a time to enjoy being free from the prison-like walls of the academy. Yet, here she was on a Saturday morning, all because she couldn't ever resist the amusing persistence of her best friend.

Almost on cue, Liam's hearty chuckle sounded throughout the room. Christine couldn't help but smile fondly as she watched him nearly spill a dash of red paint on a white set-piece. He was unique, that one. It wasn't just his fiery red hair and freckled complexion that made him stand out. He had a certain sense of mystery about him visible to no one but Christine, despite his irritating immaturity at times. Christine would never hesitate to give him a call whenever she was upset, and he always responded with just the right amount of concern and understanding before cheering her right up. He had a certain appeal...nothing that attracted her romantically to him, of course. Their relationship had always been platonic. Honestly, they could have been born brother and sister.

The more she thought of it, the more she realized that had she had an ounce of Irish blood in her, she would have seriously suspected of their relation. Liam was always terribly protective toward her, and she toward him to a lesser extent. He had acquired many girlfriends due to his natural flirtatiousness and charm. However, he made sure to check out every guy that took a serious interest in Christine. She had considered that trait of his more irritating than endearing, until this very moment.

My, she must be incredibly bored. Even her mind wandered to far pleasant places than where her body rested. After several moments her eyes slid shut and the loud voices drifted off.

* * *

_The water glistened in the distance as the bright golden rays of the rising sun illuminated the night sky. A faint breeze gently carried her long unbound curls into its caress, but her brown eyes were focused on some invisible point of interest far beyond the shore. In the air lingered a faint echo of some unrecognizable sound, lulling her to shut her eyes. The murmur grew louder into a slow hum. For an eternity, it seemed, she hummed along with it to some unforgettable tune. "You're late," she spoke softly, her voice was almost lost in the wind._

_"I was here long before you," answered a deep, familiar voice. _

_There was a pause as the figure stood beside her, staring out into the glittering ocean just as she was. _

_"Do you hear it?" She asked, her voice sounding far off._

_There was no response; her father simply turned his head to watch her intense gaze._

_"It's always here. It never leaves. Sometimes I scream just so I can't hear it anymore." Her voice cracked with some faint emotion as terror filled her eyes. "Can't you make it stop?"_

_He turned from her to stare out into the sea once more. "You know I can't do that, angel."_

_She grimaced. "There are no angels in my life."_

_"Do you have such little faith in my promise? Have you forgotten?" He inquired sadly._

_She didn't answer, only slowly walked to the shore line. "When will it stop? Doesn't it understand that it's killing me? When will it stop?"_

_"When you embrace it." _

_"I hate you," she hissed. "How can you tell me to embrace something alone that was ours? How can you think I could do it? How could you leave me? I hate you!"_

_A long few moments of quiet followed and he sighed. "It's late."_

_"I don't want you to go." She was only mildly surprised when tears fell down her pale cheeks. This is how their meetings always ended. Sometimes they would just sit and watch the ocean. Other times she would become angry, but at the end she always was left in tears._

_She ripped her gaze away from the far-reaching sea for the first time, turning her pleading eyes on him. "I _need_ you..."_

_"You have me," was his only solemn answer. "I'm with you anytime you let those notes spill from your mouth." He tapped his head and backed away a few steps in retreat. _

_"Don't you have any parting mysterious advice?" She called back through her tears._

_He turned away and continued his walk away from her. "Don't talk to strangers?"_

_She snorted. "That's the_—

_"Christine!"_

_What?_

_Christine? Christine! Chris_—

* * *

"_Christine..."_

With a gasp Christine Daaé's eyes shot open as she nearly fell off the row of seats onto the floor. Her back and elbows ached as she tried to sit up and gain her bearings, only to be met with darkness. Her gasps slowly settled into heavy breathing as she waited for her eyes to adjust. _What had happened?_

She had only now realized that her face was dampened with tears, but in her present confusion and terror she didn't bother wiping at them. Her eyes still had not adjusted to the darkness, and the rough carpeting underneath her back told her that she had somehow fell to the floor. Involuntarily, her breathing began to quicken once again as the pain in her arms prevented her from pushing herself up. _Where was she? Why couldn't she feel the breeze anymore? Where was her_—

_"Christine..."_

Her breath instantly caught in her throat and she immediately shut her eyes. _Pull yourself together_, she chided herself.

Liam! She had been watching Liam! Oh, it was all starting to come back! She was counting lighting fixtures on the ceiling...She must have fallen asleep. It was a dream...just a dream. Where had everyone gone? Why was she lying on the floor near the isle alone in the dark?

Ignoring the stabs of pain in her upper shoulders and wrists, Christine pushed herself up into a standing position, eying the pitch black auditorium warily. Had that voice been in her head?

She wiped at her tear-streaked face and immediately spotted the silver glimmer of her cell phone on the floor. Without hesitation she picked it up and flipped it open, the bright blue light giving her the illumination she needed at the moment before she dialed the memorized number. "Liam?" She was surprised at the trembling in her voice.

- "Sleeping Beauty's finally awake, I see?" - Liam's cheery voice answered.

"Where are you? Where did everyone go? Why—"

- "Calm down, Chrissy. I called your aunt before I left. I would have waited with you there but I had somewhere to be. Annette should be there to pick you up in about a half hour." -

With a short thank you and a bid goodbye she hung up the phone, absentmindedly straightening her tangled curls. A half hour? What was she going to do for a half hour? The cafe would surely be closed, and she certainly wasn't going to roam the darkened hallways. Also, it was pretty freezing out, so she didn't find liking in the idea of waiting outside for her aunt's car.

She felt odd staying in the auditorium, though. An unknown fear coursed through her as she peered around the enormous room. She remembered the deep, melodic voice she had awakened too moments earlier. She shivered involuntarily. Her hands were shaking, she realized distractedly as she gazed at her trembling fingers.

The faint memory of her father's voice had already faded; she could barely even picture his face anymore. It was the song he had hummed as he joined her by the shore that lingered in her mind, as it always had. It was a Swedish lullaby he sung to her when she was young often before she went to bed.

Now, for the first time in a while, the tune in her head offered a little bit of comfort and she softly sung it aloud as she approached the stage.

She found her way to the light box and turned on a row of soft-colored lights to make things more visible, not knowing what she was going to do.

_Do you have such little faith in my promise?_

The words entered her head from out of nowhere, and the beautiful song that she barely realized she was still singing stopped silent. _His promise_.

_Which one?_ She asked herself bitterly. _The one where he'd never leave me? Or the promise that he'd send me a guardian angel?_

Her eyes slid shut as his words from her dream echoed in her mind. She hadn't dreamt of him in _so long_. Without pictures, the image of his gentle but worn face almost was a faded shadow in her memory of what he once was. She had practically forgotten the melodic sound of his voice...his _voice_...The one thing they both had cherished during her youth…The one thing that would send her heart souring. How could she have let it fade away? How could she have let it die?

Even now, as she sang his words...it wasn't the _same_. It wasn't _him_. It was dead...devoid of all passion and emotion.

She was vaguely aware that she was sobbing now? She barely even recognized the sound of her own cries as they echoed throughout the auditorium.

_Do you have such little faith in my promise? Have you forgotten? _

"Stop." Her voice was weak and the word was practically lost in her sobs as her father spoke in her head.

She _had_ forgotten. He promised her to send her a guardian angel...an angel of _music_. All he ever wanted was for her to embrace her voice. Instead, for years, she purposefully neglected it...out of spite, selfishness, and _hatred_. She had let herself lose all inspiration. And now it was as if the memory of her father was truly lost.

_"Christine..."_

This time, she couldn't control her sobs even as the low and melodic voice she remembered hearing earlier resonated throughout the room. Instead, she shut her eyes tighter and clutched her knees to her chest as she leaned against a backdrop.

Christine's shudders only ceased when the entrancing voice began crooning a soothing and unfamiliar lullaby, the calming sound seemingly coming from everywhere at once. Even the silence following the song seemed a thing of perfection, and Christine, now feeling eerily calm, halted her tears and stood up. Taking one long look at the empty darkness around her, she nodded at no one and exited the room as if in a trance.

* * *

**_A/N: _**What's the verdict? Christine's a tad angsty, right now. Give her time. She'll get over it. 

Tell me what you think, please?

la M.R


	3. Angel, I Hear You!

**_A/N:_** The tiny snippet of lyrics is from some Irish folk song.

Just a note: You should probably start paying attention to flashbacks, though the portion in this particular chapter is obviously a dream. Anyway, they'll play a big role in the plot in the future. K? K.

la M.R

**

* * *

**

Stand and Watch It Burn: Angel, I Hear You!

"Is something wrong, Christine? You seem...not at all here."

Christine glanced up over her supper at Annette Giry, who studied her carefully with a raised eyebrow. She nodded distractedly. "Everything's fine, Aunt Annette. I'm..." _Having nightmares again? Emotionally depressed? Hearing voices?_ "...just overwhelmed with school." She quickly looked back down at her plate in order to avoid her aunt's scrutinizing gaze. She had always been told that she was absolutely atrocious at lying. To her immense relief, Annette seemed to leave the subject alone, despite the casting of frequent concerned looks over the dinner table.

"How's the production coming along?" the woman asked, suddenly.

The change of subject nearly caused Christine to release a loud sigh. "Pretty well," she answered truthfully. "Carlotta is...well, she's not bad, when she wants to be. The directors love her. They do whatever they can to keep her happy. Although, I can't believe it slipped my mind, but a backdrop fell on her recently."

Annette's head snapped up in concern. "What? She isn't hurt, is she?"

Christine shook her head and the woman sighed in relief. "Liam thinks its the Ghost."

Her aunt remained silent as if contemplating her statement, and Christine shrugged and continued. "Unfortunately, it didn't knock any sense into her." Christine's face scrunched into a grimace. "I personally think she's just loud, and can't understand what her allure is that makes everyone gush over her. I guess I'm the only one there who sees through her."

"I'm sure you're wrong about that," her aunt replied with uncharacteristic nonchalance as she caught her eye and stood up to wash her plate.

Christine opened her mouth, as if to protest or question, but shut it wordlessly. After thanking her aunt for cooking, she hastily departed from the kitchen to start on her homework.

* * *

_"How long?"_

_Seven-year old Christine winced as her father's normally strong, steady voice broke with pain. She knelt at the top of the stairs and could only get a glimpse of her father's crouching figure on the armchair, his head buried in his hands. The other man, a tall and lanky detective apparently by the name of Mr. Andrews, stood several feet away._

_"How...long?" Charles Daaé growled out again, through clenched teeth._

_"A...a long time now, Charles. At least half a year, if not longer."_

_Charles groaned angrily before standing up and sending an empty glass hurling towards the wall where the crash nearly caused young Christine to yelp._

_Moments of tense silence seemed to pass as Christine stared unblinkingly at her father, who was breathing heavily._

_"I'll kill him," he murmured darkly, his normally warm eyes flashing dangerously. _

_"Charles, we'll find him. We've come this far..." Mr. Andrew took a cautious step forward. "We'll find him."_

_"You'll find him..." Charles echoed faintly, seemingly in some other world. A short moment later his eyes locked with Mr. Andrews's. Christine watched as his broad forehead slowly crumpled as if he was coming to some sort of realization. "Months, you say? Months? All this time...and I had no idea. That..._monster_...was after her for months. How could I not see? All those nights with her trembling and false smiles and...letters. I saw those letters! I saw a few of them in her drawer, and I was going to open them! Isn't that funny, James? I was going to invade her privacy because of my jealousy. Oh, I wish I had! Isn't it funny how my jealousy could have saved us both?"_

_Mr. Andrews silently walked forward and lay a comforting hand on Charles's shoulder. Confused at her father's anger and utter despair, Christine quietly crept back up the stairs to her room and put her hands over her ears to muffle the low groans of her father's suffering._

_

* * *

_

"You heard..._what!_"

Oh...this was a _marvelous_ idea. "Forget it!"

"Forget it? _Forget _it? I won't. Why? Well, because I don't want to be the guilty one when you're rocking back and forth in a dark corner somewhere muttering to yourself about hearing _voices_!"

Christine groaned in exasperation. Perhaps she had been very, very foolish in telling Liam of her...worries. "I told you, I probably imagined it."

Liam gaped. "Uh...I hate to break it to you doll. _Imagining _things that aren't there isn't any better than actually hearing them."

Despite herself, Christine's spine straightened and she looked at him with indignation. "_You're _the one who believes in a ghost! I don't! And...well, how do you know that it _wasn't there_? You weren't even there!"

"So you've gone from telling me you heard voices, to telling me you aren't crazy, to telling me you probably imagined all of it, to getting defensive. Tell me, Chrissy, do _you_ even know what you're talking about?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Liam O'Neil. I'm telling you that I was upset and thought I heard someone saying my name and singing when I was alone in a dark auditorium. I'm incredibly sorry if my uncertainty about the whole thing bothers my best friend, who I thought would help me figure it out!" Christine huffed angrily.

There was a pause as silence lingered in the empty hallway. Liam looked at the floor and Christine at her scattered books. There was no doubt that she regretted coming to her friend with her ailments. But when he approached her as she was sitting alone in the hall doing her work, he knew something was wrong. And he was just so damn _persistent_.

"You were upset?" Liam asked suddenly after a moment.

Christine hesitated, not quite willing to recount her entire breakdown in the auditorium that day. "No...I was just...thinking about my dad. I was fine. But I wasn't in the best frame of mind, so when I heard...well, I was startled and confused."

For the first time, Liam seemed to get a more understanding look in his eye rather than the 'my best friend's insane' look he had been sporting for the past fifteen minutes.

Suddenly he frowned. "He sang to you?"

"Do you process the words I say, like, two minutes after I say them?"

"You said you heard him _sing _to you?" Liam asked again, ignoring her remark.

"Yes. I...think so. Oh, I don't know! Liam, I was probably just dreaming." She sighed. It was the truth. Maybe she had hit her head when she fell off the seats. Maybe she _had _just dreamed the beautiful voice that had placated her cries with his voice.

Liam fell unusually silent in thought as Christine suddenly felt interested in a tiny spot on the floor. When she did finally meet his eye, he surprised her with a mischievous grin. "Looks like _someone's _charmed the Theatre Ghost himself!"

Christine rolled her eyes, but was unable to stop the smile that spread on her face in response. "Can we not make light of my apparent insanity, please? And keep your voice down!" Liam laughed and she decided to play along. "The last thing I need right now is for people to think I spend my after-school hours being lulled to sleep by a ghost."

"_Lulled to sleep_, eh?" Liam smirked, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Leave it to you to charm the infamous ghost of the school's theatre. I'm not surprised. I've always known you're voice could charm the devil himself!"

Christine's smile wavered a bit until it disappeared off her face entirely and her expression morphed into a serious one. Liam had usually been careful not to mention Christine's singing unless it was she who brought it up; it tended to make her drift off into a rather melancholy mood. But this time his smile remained on his face as he did not seem to catch his mistake. "I was dreaming. There is no such thing as ghosts," Christine stated seriously. "Sometimes you worry me with your imagination."

"Yes, yes, I know," he shrugged, throwing on his coat and bag around his shoulder. "Damn this cursed creativity! I'll talk to you later. Try to stay out of trouble, hmm? Don't talk to strangers?"

"Shut up."

Liam whistled jauntily as he walked down the long corridor, whistling some tune, as his voice rang out boisterously through the halls.

"_When Irish eyes are smiling,  
Sure, 'tis like the morn in Spring.  
In the lilt of Irish laughter..."_

As his voice faded away, Christine softly and beautifully finished the tune before she could stop herself.

_"You can hear the angels sing."_

She let out a sigh and closed her eyes briefly before gathering her books. For once, she hadn't had much homework. Maybe she could suffer through the cold winds outside and wait for her aunt. Accidentally, her pencil case slipped out of her hand and the contents spilled out onto the floor. Just as she knelt to gather the scattered materials, the soft whisper of her name caressed her ears.

Freezing, she stilled her hands and barely breathed as she listened to only the silence that greeted her. Shutting her eyes tightly for less than a second, she took a deep breath and placed the spilled materials back into her case. Just as she zipped it up, she heard it again. It was quiet, barely a whisper...but there was no mistaking it. And she most definitely was not dreaming.

Quickly fumbling with her bag and books, she stood up and nearly stumbled as she walked down the hallway. "No. This is _not_ happening," she hissed to no one but herself. She pushed open the doors to the corridor and raced down the stairs and through another long hallway.

_"Christine..."_

Her feet picked up the pace a bit as she looked wildly around her for the source of the voice, which was not as whispery as it had been before. It was deep and enchanting, beckoning her. But only dark walls and doors surrounded her.

_"Christine!"_

"I'm not...hearing this," she desperately whispered to herself. She realized with frustration that in her panic she had not gone the way that would lead outside. She recognized a few of the signs on the classroom and understood she was in the science wing. If she could just go down the stairs at the end and take a left she'd be able to exit out of the back entrance.

_Please, leave me alone! _Her mind begged as she picked up speed and she nearly ran down the hall toward the stairs.

She was almost there. She would go down the stairs and never hear that beautiful...cursed voice again. She just needed to get outside...

_"Stop."_

She was both horrified and amazed that the powerful command caused her feet to instantly stop their flee, mid-way down the corridor. She shut her eyes, her breath coming out in short bursts. The silence might have stretched on forever, but she didn't notice it. There was a presence surrounding her, a lingering sense of comfort that coiled around her trembling and tired form like a vine.

_"Open your eyes, child. You have no reason to fear me."_

Her eyes seemed to flutter open involuntarily at the order. Her breathing almost returned to its normal pace as his soothing voice seem to warm her into comfort. "I...what...do you want?" She stammered, turning around only to face the dark path she had run through.

There was a lengthy pause, and Christine wondered if maybe she had truly gone insane.

_"I want to know why you sing only when no one else can hear you."_

Christine opened her mouth, only to clamp it shut again. That certainly hadn't been what she was expecting. Then again, what exactly had she been expecting to hear from a disembodied voice?

"I...don't know," she answered dumbly, her eyes fearfully searching the ceiling.

_"You're gift is precious, Christine. With proper training, you could bless the heavens with your voice."_

She barely realized a small shadow of a smile show on her face at the complement, not remembering another time she had reacted pleasantly to a complement regarding her singing since her father was alive. It disappeared as quickly as it came, however.

_Training?_ All these years she had not bothered; she had not the passion or interest to improve her voice. That passion had been stolen from her. No, she would not bless the heavens with her voice. That feat, she thought fondly, belonged to another.

"I..." _don't want anyone to hear my voice. I don't want training_, she finished in her head. Why was her ability to speak rendered useless? She found herself unable to find her voice.

_"In only a short time I can make your voice a thing of perfection. You will outshine everyone around you. Your voice could make the angels themselves weep, if you only let it."_

Christine shook her head; her mind was reeling. "I...I can't. I..."

_"Christine..."_ The voice paused, almost out of some hesitation. _"He wants you to let your voice soar. You were born for it."_

"My...who? Father?" Christine's eyes searched through the darkness again, desperately wanting to see this mysterious...being...that spoke to her of her father. _He wants me to let my voice soar? _

There was a pause. _"Yes, Christine. I was sent to awaken your music."_

Sent? He was sent? A million questions seemed to run through Christine's mind as she struggled to make sense of the situation. It was impossible. Who was this being?

"Are...Are you an...angel?" The part of her mind that told her come to her senses screamed at her. Why was she still standing here, listening to something she couldn't even see? There were no such thing as ghosts. There were no such thing as angels, right? Someone was playing a trick on her.

_Have you forgotten my promise?_

But there was the part of her that didn't care. It was the part of her that made her heart cry out just to hear her father's voice again, and at the prospect of having him pleased with her.

_"Yes, Christine. You can make your father proud. Shall I show you?"_

Christine hesitated, the two conflicting parts of her mind battling. She could make her father proud. An angel would help her. Had her father fulfilled his promise as she had always dreamed? It didn't make sense, because angels couldn't exist, could they? Yet, here she was talking to a being with the voice of an angel, who spoke of her beloved father. How could he know?

Her heart and hopes disregarded any of the logical arguments of her mind as she replied softly:

"Yes."

* * *

**_A/N:_** Review! And you get virtual brownies! 


	4. An Object and Its Lack Of Stability

Stand and Watch It Burn: An Object and Its Lack Of Stability

Things, Christine thought one moment during physics class, were very, very confusing.

"Torque depends on the magnitude of the force, the distance from the axis of rotation at which it is applied, and the angle between the force and the radius from the axis of rotation to the point where the force is..."

Yes. Things, she thought, were perhaps more confusing than the rambling complexities of which the teacher blathered on about.

She forced her mind to focus on what the teacher was writing on the board and lecturing about. "An object is stable against rollover if its center of mass is above its base..."

_Hmm...That makes sense, at least_, she thought with a nod. _If an object's center of mass is above its base, then it is stable. If an object is stable against rollover, than its center of mass is above its base. If the object's center of mass is receiving music lessons from an invisible heavenly being, then it is very, very unstable. Then, it might need to get some help. Seeing as invisible angels are extremely unreal, one may conclude that those who hear the words from such beings can be considered not stable. If..._

"Christine!"

"_What?_" Christine snapped, a little louder than she would have preferred, to the young blonde sitting beside her. "Sorry," she mumbled after seeing the small girl's eyes widen in surprise. "Just...zoned out for a bit, there. Did you say something?"

"What the heck is on your mind, Christine Daaé? You've been distracted for the past three days! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Meg, really," she assured her friend with a smile. To her immense relief, the bell rang and she nearly jumped out of her seat and ran to her locker.

What was wrong with her? It seemed like every other moment she would throw a cautious glance over her shoulder or upward as she passed from class to class. Why was she so jumpy? _Well, that's a stupid question,_ her mind answered. She glanced at the clock. There was no rehearsal today, so as planned, she would wait for about an hour and a half until most students and faculty left, and then go to the auditorium...

...Where she would...what? Go stand on stage? Sit in one of the seats until she heard his voice? _What exactly_ was she doing? Christine shook her head and sighed before plopping herself down on the floor in a corner to at least _try_ to start some homework before...it was time.

* * *

_"Charles, my God! The girl wants to sing! How can _you_ of all people deny her that?"_

_"Putting her up on that stage might draw _unwanted _attention, Annette. I will not allow it."_

_Annette Giry threw up her hands in exasperation and cursed under her breath at the man's stubbornness. Yes, she understood his determination to protect his daughter, as she felt the same way. Over the years, Annette had formed a maternal attachment to the girl and had therefore made many sacrifices for her safety. "It's been years, Charles. Do you really think..." she paused and bit her lip, choosing her words extremely carefully. "It has been at least, what, three years since...? Surely you cannot think—"_

_"Perhaps you've forgotten, Ann, that the trouble has existed well beyond _three years_. Why should I assume, now, that it's all finally gone away?"_

_"He's gone, Charles. We don't have to worry about him anymore!"_

_"He _isn't_ gone! He will _never_ be gone! The police said...they never found the body, remember? We can never know! We can never..."_

_His voice drifted off and after a moment or two Annette found her voice._

_"She's nearly eleven, Charles! And she wants to sing! For you! She wants to show her friends what her father has taught her! How can you deny her that, after all those years of telling her she was born for it? You'll break her heart."_

_"She'll understand." Charles Daaé insisted with a sigh. Annette watched him carefully as he rubbed his hands in anxiety and frustration. "I have to do this to protect her, Ann. I can't...I _won't_...subject her to that same kind of danger that I allowed my wife to fall under."_

_Annette remained quiet for a moment, before sitting down at the chair beside her friend. His stare was far off, lost in some distant memory. She hated seeing him torment himself like he would. Each time his face seemed to lose its strong, stable facade, her heart broke inwardly. Each time she would open her mouth to offer some words of comfort, but she was always unable to find any. Despite the fact that she _knew _how he felt, despite her own inner torment and guilt, the words were always lost. Yes, she understood. Her walls broke each time his did. The day he lost a wife, she lost her only sister. She would always be there for him, both as a grieving sister-in-law and as a friend._

_"Charles..." her voice was soft and he looked up for the first time in several moments. "Your daughter wishes to show off her beautiful voice in front of her friends at her school's Holiday Talent show. She is not an actress, performing in a Broadway play, as...as Liz was. She is not subject to the gazes of hundreds of people. It will be attended by proud parents and family members of students, whose only reason for being there is to watch their children shine. That's all."_

_Charles stubborn and firm expression melted at her assurance, and soon enough he sighed and nodded. "If you say so," he murmured softly._

_Annette nodded and managed a comforting smile. Inwardly, she cringed. _Damn that vile creature for forcing a strong, confident man into a life of paranoia! _She cursed. She hoped that man was lying in an alley somewhere, being devoured by the rats. _

_When would they finally be free of him?_

_

* * *

About three weeks later, dark blue eyes swept the large, crowded gymnasium with slight disdain as the tall figure took a seat near the back. Hands swiftly pulling out the folded program tucked neatly in his coat pocket, the eyes scanned the long list of names with uncloaked interest until they stopped upon the eighth name. _

_Christine Daaé ("O, Holy Night")_

_The thin lips turned upward into a cold, calculated smirk just before the lights dimmed and people around him took their seats._

_Yes...tonight would prove to be quite pleasant indeed. He wondered idly if he possessed her mother's stage presence..._

_

* * *

_

"Hello?"

Her meek voice was answered with silence. Christine would have guessed no one was there and left, had it not been for the stage lights that illuminated the far side of the auditorium, and the strange presence that seemed loom all around her. That and, well:

_"Hello, Christine."_

Christine nearly jumped out of her skin at the low, silky sound of the voice that surrounded her. Her eyes drifted upward, a little fearfully, before noticing the lights gradually merge to form a faint spotlight upon the center of the stage. Taking that as her cue, she cautiously made her way to the stage and stood in the center, squinting for a moment at the light in her eyes. Feeling suddenly nervous and scrutinized, Christine shifted uncomfortably. She felt the need to say something, to tell him that she hadn't actually ever had any sort of training. What if her voice wasn't nearly as beautiful as her father had always thought? Why did she suddenly care? "I warn you, it's been a really long time," she offered meekly.

"Surely it hasn't been _that _long...You were singing only a few days ago," the voice countered smoothly. Before she could respond with stammers and flustered mumbles, he continued. "Now, I think we should start with scales. Bear in mind, some notes on the high register will not sound perfect, but we'll widen your range in time."

Christine nodded her assent.

"Straighten up," the voice commanded and Christine immediately obeyed. "Posture is key. Have you ever had vocal lessons before?"

"I..." She paused. "My father...he was a musician. He used to teach me some things, like scales and how to enunciate and_—_"

_"Posture, Miss Daaé!"_

Her spine immediately snapped straight and she ceased her rambling.

"Good. Now, shall we begin?"

She took a second to wonder where the sound of a piano was coming from, but it quickly slipped her mind along, oddly, with her hesitations about singing. Right now, all that existed was the tinkling of the piano, and the voice of her angel.

* * *

**_A/N:_** Don't forget to review, please! And thanks for those I've gotten! They're very inspirational. :) I decided to put in an incredibly random Meg cameo. I needed someone there besides Liam to show she has more than one friend, so I stuck the cute blonde girl in. She might not play a great role, and she isn't Meg Giry, the daughter of (Annette) Giry. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed! Please review! (begs) 

la M.R


	5. Third Degree and Reassurances

Stand and Watch It Burn: Third Degree and Reassurances

"So, Liam, Christine tells me the production is going well?" Annette Giry inquired from across the dinner table to Liam, who was greedily stuffing his face with pasta.

"Mm...really?" The red-head replied after gulping down a large sip of water. "I wouldn't know, seeing as you're niece has been avoiding me for weeks now." He sent a good natured glare to Christine, who met his eyes for the first time all night and matched his stare, though hers was a bit more irritated.

"I have not been _avoiding _you, Liam, I've been busy. The rehearsals...they take a lot out of me."

"We haven't had a single conversation in weeks!"

"Oh please, stop being a drama queen."

"Hey! Hey. What's up? Nothing, just doing homework. That's cool, what's our mythology homework?"

"You're exaggerating." Christine eyed him indignantly. "And no way is my voice that high and flippant."

"Children, please," Annette chided. Normally, she would often simply sit back and watch as the two engaged in friendly banter between each other, but tonight she seemed aware of the real tension.

"Mrs. Giry, back me up here! Christine spends hours after school, even on rehearsal days, finishing up all her homework. How can she all of a sudden be too busy to hang out?" Liam asked. "I'm a senior and somehow she for some reason has more work to do then me!"

Annette looked at Christine, who shrugged helplessly. "I told you. I've just been tired, that's all." She met Liam's eyes and shook her head with obvious annoyance. Was it really necessary for him to discuss this particular matter right in front of her aunt? "And besides," she continued defensively, "I don't always finish all my homework. Sometimes I only get a few hard pages done before I have my..."

_Crap! What the hell was she thinking?_

"You're what?" Her aunt asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Uh...my...practice," she answered as matter-of-factly as she could, though realizing she had failed miserably. She quickly took a bite of her food, silently praying the subject would drop. She inwardly cursed when both her aunt and Liam gazed at her with raised eyebrows, obviously waiting for her to continue. "Sometimes...I...I like to go over some dance moves...for the musical."

She noticed Liam roll his eyes and continue eating but Christine's own eyes were trained on her aunt, whose gaze narrowed a bit. "Alone?" She inquired, her tone laced with a touch of suspicion.

"Y...yes..."

_Why was her heart beating this fast?_

"Hmm."

"What?" Christine knew by now that her aunt responded with a suspicious 'hmm' whenever she suspected something.

"You just shouldn't...wander the school by yourself after hours." Her aunt picked up her plate and Christine breathed a quiet sigh of relief as it seemed the matter had finally been dropped.

Liam's voice piped up. "That's what _I _always told her! You'd think that even after the whole hearing-voices fiasco, she'd be a little bit more spooked."

Christine's heart stopped. For a moment, she had thought it had actually, physically stopped. _Damn him to hell! How dare he? How DARE--_

"Voices?" Annette shut off the running water from the sink and turned around, an expression of noticeable shock and concern etched on her sharp features. "Christine? You heard a voice? What did it say?"

_Uh...I am your angel of music?_

Christine shook her head, keeping her eyes focused on her near-empty plate the entire time, her hands nervously fiddling with the table cloth. She could feel herself turning bright red and found she was unable to meet the scrutinizing gaze of her aunt. Much to her dismay, her voice came out a little quieter and guiltier than she would have preferred.

"I was dreaming..." she muttered, barely able to contain both the anger she felt towards Liam for opening his big mouth and the shame she felt for lying to her aunt.

An agonizing silence followed, and Christine couldn't bear sitting there any longer. She had to get out. She had to leave this _suffocating _room. She just wanted to lie in her bed and quietly sing herself to sleep, just to escape the searching gaze of her aunt.

The sound of the sink running reached her ears again, and Christine slowly looked up to meet Liam's eyes, which were shifting a little back and forth as he recognized her discomfort and realized his mistake.

Focusing her fury and guilt in that one penetrating stare, Christine excused herself and retired to her bedroom for the night and bitterly bid her friend a safe drive home.

* * *

"Christine?" 

Christine's mind snapped back to reality as the stern voice beckoned to her from some unknown place in the auditorium. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, cursing herself for zoning out again.

"Fine," the melodic voice continued, and Christine winced at how aggravated it sounded. "If you would bother paying attention for a few moments, we'll start again with..."

"I can't..." Christine couldn't stop the words that came out barely a whisper, but knowing they were heard, for the voice stopped speaking immediately. Only a harsh, uneasy silence was left, except for her ragged breathing. "I can't do this..."

"...What?"

"I...I'm sorry. You've really helped me, you have. I just..."

What was she saying? The voice lessons she had been receiving for the past few weeks with her mysterious vocal trainer had done wonders for her voice. It was sounding better than she could have ever imagined, due to the unique but occasionally extremely strenuous techniques her teacher had been using with her.

Not only that, but lately she had been catching herself singing alone more often. Sometimes she would have to stop herself for fear that her aunt would overhear her and wonder when she overcame her unwillingness to sing. It seemed like every moment of the day she would hear the low, smooth voice of her mysterious angel singing to her in her head or correcting her mistakes as she sung to herself in her room. With each meeting with her new guide she could feel herself yearning for music just a little bit more each day...

Perhaps that was what frightened her the most. It was impossible not to realize the absurdity of the entire situation. She was receiving vocal lessons from a musical genius whom she had never laid eyes upon and who claimed he was an angel sent from her father. Any normal, rational person would simply stop heeding the voice, or possibly call the police. But she couldn't do that. It would be like...she would feel like she was betraying her father.

"Christine?"

Christine contemplated the unusual manner with which her teacher addressed her. Normally, his voice would boom throughout the auditorium with confidence and power. Her name would always be spoken in a command, firm and unrelenting. Now, it seemed fairly _puzzled _as it gently and almost uncertainly got her attention.

"I...I don't know, I..." She took a deep breath to cease her stammering. "I...I can't keep lying to my friends, my aunt..." She paused, disconcerted by the silence that followed her statement and afraid that she had truly offended her teacher. "My voice is better than it has ever been before. I...well, I actually enjoy singing. It used to make me feel sad, you know...t-the singing, because it made me think about...well, i-it made me feel..." She let out a frustrated sigh at her inability to express any coherent sentences. "It's just...I'm being taught by...well, honestly? I can't believe I'm being taught by an angel. I just...I'm incredibly confused. And my aunt has been asking...questions..."

"What kind of questions?" The inquisitive voice nearly made Christine jump as it spoke suddenly in a tone she couldn't quite identify.

"She just seems suspicious, sir. She wonders why I'm so tired and why I don't have time for my friends. She says I shouldn't spend so much time alone after school."

Silence followed Christine's explanation, and she shifted uncomfortably. After a few tense moments, the voice of her teacher reached her ears once more, its firm tone back in place.

"Do not worry about Mrs. Giry, Christine. I'm sure she will prod no further. As for your other...dilemmas..." He paused, and Christine looked down at her feet. "Tell me, Christine..."

She marveled at the fact that the way he simply said her name seemed to soothe her.

"...How do you feel when you sing?"

The question threw her, but after thinking about it she realized it would be impossible for her to express her answer in mere words. She felt a small smile spread on her face as memories of her father swept through her mind. The images of his violin and her singing with him were replaced with recent memories of her singing herself to sleep with her mysterious angel lingering in her dreams.

"I...I feel like, like I'm...floating." My, my, how stupid did _she _sound? Was that the best she could do? _Floating_? Was that even the right word? "I...I don't know how to explain it. I feel..._right._ And yet...happy and sad all at the same time. I...I know that sounds pretty stupid," she looked down, blushing at her rather faulty expression of her feelings.

"Quite the contrary. I can tell how passionate you are about music deep down, Christine, simply by hearing you sing. But, you have kept your passion locked away for quite some time now, and it's time for you to unleash it."

Christine did not nod, but did not show any sign of disagreement. Her heart acknowledged the fact that he was right. Ever since her father became ill, her desire to sing lay dormant in her soul. But it wasn't dead. It had never died. Perhaps that was what her father had always been trying to tell her in her dreams? And now, as she felt herself enjoying singing with her teacher and by herself more and more, did that mean her passion was being rekindled? Is that what her father would have wanted?

"Your father bestowed upon you a gift, one that he expected you to embrace and share, am I right?"

Christine peered into the darkness, blinking when she could have sworn her eyes spotted a rustle of movement high in the balcony. "I...yes, I suppose he did."

"Then, it is up to you. If you are weak enough to let trivial distractions like _friends _prevent you from doing what you are destined to do and what you enjoy doing...and you _do enjoy it_, Christine, I can see it in your eyes and smile each time you use your voice..."

She felt one hot tear roll down her cheek and she looked up once again into the balcony that was bathed in darkness.

"...Then you may walk out that door and some other less talented child will be blessed with your angel."

No sound was heard for several moments, and Christine contemplated his words. After a long while, she wondered suddenly with alarm if he had left her. "Angel?" She called out, fearfully.

"I'm here, Christine," answered the voice, wrapping her once again in its comforting embrace.

"I'm sorry, I didn't...I was just...afraid. I..." She stood helplessly as her vision was blurred with tears but she felt too drained to try to fight against the emotional feelings were now consuming her. "I just don't...I don't want to let him down!"

"I am your angel of music, Christine. Your father..._and _your mother...would be beside themselves with joy at the very sound of your voice."

The statement seemed to make her tears flow quicker as an image of her father and her beautiful smiling mother, whom she had seen only in pictures, gazing down proudly at her. After basking a bit in the dream, she wiped her tears away with her hand. "Angel?" She called out softly once more. She caught a swirl of moment somewhere above and smiled. "I...feel kind of stupid calling you that. Don't you have a name?"

There was a long pause and Christine searched the darkness for another sign of her teacher. When the answer came, it came in the form of a reluctant response, almost a sigh.

"You may call me...Erik."

* * *

_In the shadows he watched. _

_His blue eyes seemed even darker in the moonlight as he lurked in the shadows. "Well, this is interesting..." he mumbled gruffly, watching the two figures inside the small brick house move back and forth, as if in some heated argument. The woman's hair was as unkempt as he had ever seen it, and her face was flushed in anger as she pointed her thin finger to the stranger in the room._

_"Very interesting..."_

_He watched as the tall, cloaked figure ran his hands through his hair with some agitation and angrily turned around and stormed out of the room. Although he was sure the dark shadow cast from the giant oak tree would conceal him, he took a step away to ensure his presence was kept unnoticed. Curiously, he watched as the man exited the house._

_He was more than a bit taken aback at the sight of the man's face as he strode away from the woman's porch. Clear as daylight, a shining white mask that concealed the right half of his defined face gleamed in the moonlight. The object seemed perfectly crafted to fit the man's features and somehow made the shape seem that much more ominous. However, it seemed that less than a second later the man had vanished into the shadows after stealthily jumping over a fence. _

_Turning his gaze back through the window, he couldn't help but smile with delight at the expression of regret and sadness that was etched upon the despairing Annette's face. He watched her attempt to straighten herself up, regaining the cool and calm facade she was known for, and return to her bedroom._

_Earlier, he recalled fondly, he had managed to steal about a third of the woman's savings right from her account, and had also broken into her home and taken certain valuable items. Why? Well, he hadn't exactly needed the money, but one could never have enough prizes of worth. Actually, the real reason was: he just wanted to let her know she wasn't safe. He was sure that Annette hadn't known the thief was actually _him_, but he wondered if it was his actions that triggered this most curious argument he had just witnessed._

_God, he hoped so. _

_With a smug expression, he left the front yard with a satisfied smirk upon his lips._

_

* * *

_

**_A/N:_** I...well, this is one of those chapters that I wasn't going to be satisfied with no matter how many times I edit it. It's possible that in the future I'll edit it to shreds, because I just can't be happy with it. Anyway, just a reminder: don't forget _italicized_ portions are flashbacks. I hope this chapter wasn't too incredibly impossible to get through as it was impossible to write.

_Please, please review!_ I'll have no idea if this is continue-able if I don't get any feedback! Thanks for the reviews I've gotten!

la M.R


	6. Two Notes and A Ghastly Performance

Stand and Watch It Burn: Two Frightening Notes and One Ghastly Performance

Chaos.

If one were to try and describe complete and utter chaos, this would be it.

Scripts were left carelessly on the floor and in the seats, music stands toppled over as the orchestra students nearly jumped on the stage to be amidst all the commotion. There were both excited and fearful gasps, as well as skeptical sighs and hushed whispers. There were the occasional failed attempts by the directors Mr. Andre and Mr. Firmin to restore some sense of order: "Students, please! Back in your positions! Sit _down_! I will not stand for this...Jonathan, how did you get up _there_? _Quiet_!" But, as restless, hyper high school students tended to do when something out-of-the-norm happened, they paid no attention to anything resembling authority.

Christine watched this chaos unfold a little anxiously from stage left. It seemed the entire cast and the majority of the crew were all huddled near the back of the stage, while a few sensible students and faculty chose to keep their distance. Christine couldn't help but chew on her lip nervously as she watched the situation unfold. It seems Miss Carlotta Guidicelli had received a most curious letter.

"ENOUGH!" cried Mr. Andre, and although silence was immediately granted, a few people offstage snickered at the crack in his voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, _please_. We have _one week_ left until the performance! Now, it's obvious a few students decided to play a childish joke, but when we find out who it is, we will deal with it accordingly. Until then, we will resume rehearsals!"

"Er...Mr. Andre?" Piped up one of the assistant stage managers, a small and rather sickly looking brunette. "Rehearsals ended six minutes ago..."

Mr. Andre 'hmphed!' and dismissed everyone, but a majority remained gathered on the stage around a seething Carlotta, who was reddened with embarrassment as many of the other seniors tried to flatter and comfort the diva.

"Oh, Carlotta, what did it say?"

"Did the Ghost threaten you?"

"It's only because she's the most talented one here! _Someone _is obviously jealous!"

"But then why would he be making her quit if she's so talented?"

"Shut up, Lucy, no one asked your opinion!"

"It was just a question, actually."

"Is it really from...you know..._him_?"

"Of course it is, Julie! Look at the paper type...and ink! And the word 'eradicate.' You think anyone at _this _school uses words like that?"

"That's the stupidest explanation I have ever heard, Cindy. It's probably a prank."

"Everyone, just leave the poor girl alone! She's obviously distraught! Carlotta, hun, you want me to rip it to pieces for you?"

"Oh, no! Don't do that! Not before I have a chance to make copies and have it framed!"

"Oh, keep your mouth _shut_, Liam!" One of Carlotta's chippies snapped at the red-head, who was clearly not bothering to hide his delight at the present situation.

"Carlotta, Carlotta, can we read it?" some of her friends asked practically in unison.

"Fine! Take it! I don't want the piece of trash!" Carlotta angrily tossed the folded piece of parchment into the palms of several students, who clutched at it and opened it with excitement. Carlotta folded her arms and huffed as some of her close friends rubbed her back sympathetically, but she shoved them off.

_Miss Guidicelli:_

_It has come to my attention that your position in the lead is rather undeserved as your presence seems to have a negative impact on the production of "Madame Butterfly." Therefore, on behalf of the cast and crew, whom I can attest to having observed their own discontent at your rather insufficient vocal shrieking and whom I am sure are silently consenting at this very moment, amicably request that you eradicate yourself from this production. I assure you it will be an action most appreciated by your fellow cast members, as well as the audience who will not have to clean the blood out of their ears by the end of opening night._

_PTO:_

_I do strongly urge you to adhere to my request. It would be a shame if some incident were to prevent the production from resuming due to foolish noncompliance._

_Signed,_

_T.G_

There was a bit of an ominous silence that followed the reading of the letter by one of the male cast members, who seemed to enjoy his own dramatic reading of it.

"Harsh..." muttered one of the male juniors, followed by many nods and echoes of agreement.

"Do you think it was just...a prank?" One of the girls asked, glancing up a bit fearfully.

"Maybe, but I don't think anyone at school is stupid enough to include threats," another answered.

"I don't care who it's from!" Carlotta screeched suddenly, causing most around her to jump. "When they find out whoever it is, freshman or ghost, my parents will get them kicked out of the school and sent to jail! I was _born_ for this role! There is no way I'm going to drop out and let the glory go to some untalented freshman! Not because of one stupid note!"

"But didn't you hear?" Liam's stepped near the center, now waving the note around with his hand. "This wasn't the only note found. I saw Andre and Firmin whispering with the same kind of paper in their hands, with this same waxed skull." As if holding up evidence, Liam smacked the blood red skull-faced wax seal on Carlotta's letter.

"I don't care!" Carlotta stated, stubbornly though clearly perturbed at this bit of information. "It's obvious the directors aren't going to listen to this..._vile _person's demands...so neither will I! I'm sure I'll get another letter of apology once the audience gives me my standing ovation!" With this last declaration, Carlotta stormed off the stage and left the auditorium.

Some of the crew members backstage, including Christine, slowly crept out from the side of the stage to join the rest of the students. Christine's eyes flickered for a brief second to Liam, but he quickly looked away. She instantly felt a pang of guilt and regret that it had been several weeks and their friendship still seemed tainted and drifting.

"Well, folks," Liam cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. "It doesn't look like Carlotta will be quitting anytime soon. I guess we'll all have to...watch our heads."

Some of the girls clutched their arms and looked up into the flies above them, fearfully. "Did you really have to say that, Liam?" one of them complained.

In small groups the students and adult members of the crew cleaned up a bit and departed from the auditorium. Christine and a few others, including Liam, were left alone as they picked up their belongings.

"All this is pretty strange, huh?" Christine was surprised when Liam approached her as she threw her bag over her shoulder.

"Uh...yeah, it is." Determined to make this a conversation that was not awkward for a change, she continued. "Do you think it was just a prank?"

Liam shook his head without a second thought. "Not a chance. I think there's something going on in this place, Chrissy...I'm not sure what."

Christine smiled softly, finding herself reveling at the sound of her friend's nick name for her, despite her usual hatred for it.

"Which is why...I have to ask..." he continued a bit hesitantly, and she stopped to look at him. "Did you really think you were dreaming that one time, Christine? I know the last time I brought this up I was sent the glare from Hell..." he gave a little half-hearted chuckle at her bashful apologetic smile. "But I've just been thinking about it lately."

Christine swallowed, unsure of what her answer should be. He wanted her to say yes, that she _had _heard the Ghost of the theatre talking to her, singing to her, teaching her. But she couldn't, could she? In fact, she hadn't even heard a ghost. It was her _angel._ And he wouldn't understand that. Liam believed in the supernatural, sure...He even believed in God. But Christine just didn't think that he'd ever believe that her father in heaven had finally sent her the angel he promised. But the look in her friend's eyes begged for honesty...

"I...didn't hear any ghosts, Liam."

A part of her heart broke at his quiet and sad nod as he looked away from her as if he could see she was lying and his own heart was broken because of it. He had always told her she was a horrible liar, but normally he would call her on it. Now he just seemed defeated. She watched as her friend walked away from her, shutting the doors behind him.

* * *

The next week of strenuous dress rehearsals brought no more notes from any mysterious ghosts, although both the directors, Carlotta, and many other cast members worked anxiously and nervously, as if expected some spectacular disaster. No one had known whether or not Liam had actually seen the two directors with notes similar to the one Carlotta had received, but their jumpy behavior was apparent. 

Christine was thankful her disembodied music teacher had given her the week free of music lessons, due to the demanding rehearsal schedule and the upcoming show. However, she also hadn't spoken with him since before Carlotta had found her letter. She wasn't incredibly willing to believe the notes had actually been sent by her tutor. He had, on occasion, made several scathing remarks regarding Carlotta's lack of talent in relation to Christine's angelic voice. Thinking upon their lessons, she could recall a fairly threatening tone when he had mentioned Carlotta, but she had thought nothing of it until now. Could her angel really have something planned?

She was incredibly confused and shocked when she received her answer on Opening Night.

As Carlotta prepared her throat with one of her many expensive sprays, the audience and crew members were aghast as they erupted into hysterical laughter when deep croaks erupted from her mouth instead of any beautiful song.

The performance, after that, had been a disaster. A tear-faced Carlotta was replaced with the understudy, who was extremely unprepared and the actors did their best to adjust.

Nonetheless, the musical cast and crew of the prominent Willoughby Academy were humiliated. It was an event gossiped about well into the spring as students' rumors of the legendary Theatre Ghost ran rampant through the halls once again.

Christine continued her lessons, looking forward to each and every one of them, no matter how stressed out she was about school. Once, she had brought up the threatening letter to her mysterious teacher, but he simply stated that the diva's humiliation was well-deserved and bid Christine not to dwell on the event any longer. Her voice was evolving into something even she couldn't process, but she felt glorified by each lesson and with each praising from her angel. Her friendship with Liam was still waning, but it wasn't as awkward as it had been before Opening Night.

Everything seemed to be going fairly well in Christine's life. She was extremely excited about her upcoming eighteenth birthday, which was only about a month away. It was springtime, which means summer was approaching. Life, it seemed, was pretty perfect.

This, of course, made Christine extremely nervous, since she was used to everything spiraling downward when things seemed well.

* * *

"Have a good day at school, Christine?" 

"It was great, Aunt Annette, thanks!" Christine dropped her bags down with a smile and retreated to her room.

Annette could have sworn she heard Christine humming a pleasant melody as she shut the door to her room, and she smiled. Shaking her head, she sipped her drink of coffee as she proceeded to open up today's mail. Her brow wrinkled curiously as she cut open a letter with no return address.

A moment later, her coffee mug dropped helplessly to the floor as she read the short contents of the letter.

One word. One simple word was written in the center of the folded paper. If it did not have her own name on it, she wouldn't have given it a second thought.

But she felt her heart turn cold as ice, her breathing turned shallow as her mind struggled to come to grips with what she held in her hand.

_Annette,_

_Soon._

_

* * *

**A/N:**_

A few things about this chapter. Firstly, I hated signing the letter "T.G" because "O.G" sounds so much cooler. But they aren't at an opera, so I couldn't use it. Also: Willoughby Academy? Totally and completely made up. It's fictionally located some place called Middletown, which I just got out of my head. I got the name 'Willoughby' from that Twilight Zone episode, by the way. You know, "Next stop: Willoughby!" Yeah...Just a weird FYI tidbit of what goes on in my head. It's a fairly scary place. 

Lastly: I wasn't sure how I felt about using Carlotta's "toad" experience, but I figured it was enough to completely humiliate everyone. Heh. As always, I beg for reviews! Please?

la M.R


	7. Giry Tells Two Lies I

**_/N: _**Hi! I confess in advance to a mean cliffhanger in the end. Much thanks to the few people who review. You're all hugworthy! I still encourage everyone to leave _some _feedback. It can even be "Hey! I like this!" Or "Hey! You suck! Keep your day job!" But please, leave something! With that, enjoy!

la M.R

* * *

Stand and Watch It Burn: Giry Tells Two Lies I

"...But I was thinking about maybe going somewhere around here, just so, you know, I can be around if you need help with anything. I'm not even sure if I'm ready to...prostitute myself to old, perverted men, yet..."

Annette snapped her head up and choked a little on the warm tea she was drinking, much to Christine's amusement.

"I knew you weren't paying attention to me!" she laughed as her aunt wiped at her mouth with a napkin. "Is everything okay? You've seemed distracted all day."

Christine's amusement dissolved a little as her aunt gave her what seemed to be a forced smile of reassurance. "Of course, dear."

Christine raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

Annette nodded and gestured dismissively. "I promise." After catching her niece's speculative eye, she changed the subject. "Now, what were you saying about...not being ready to...?"

"Prostitute myself?" Christine finished with a smirk, grinning a little at her aunt's horrified nod. "Actually, I was saying that I don't know if I'm ready to go to a college too far away. I want to be around...in case you need me for something."

"That's nonsense, Christine. Give me at least twenty more years before I start needing you to roll me to the park to feed the birds," Annette scoffed with a fake scowl. When Christine's laughter died down a bit, Annette's voice took a far more serious tone. "I think you should go away. Somewhere far, perhaps. It's not good for you to stay here, Christine. It isn't healthy."

Christine's brow crinkled. "Why not? I love it here. This town is...peaceful. I feel calm here. And it isn't as if there aren't good colleges around within a few miles."

"Christine, you can't live your life here forever!" She persisted, her voice oddly urgent. "You'll be safer if you go somewhere far away. You can see the world, travel a lot, gain some experience..."

"'Safer?'" Christine echoed with some confusion.

"...It isn't good to be cooped up in the same place forever, Christine. You're father used to absolutely love traveling. It's good to get away sometimes...it's just good to get away. You don't want..."

"Er...Aunt Annette?"

Annette looked up and, as if realizing Christine was still there despite the fact that they were engaging in conversation, immediately stopped and chuckled awkwardly. "I'm sorry, dear. It's just...I think it'll be better for you to go somewhere...different. I'm sure you will make the best of what you decide. You still have a lot of time, though, so don't worry."

With that, the conversation seemed to have ended, and Christine watched her aunt's movements carefully. She seemed strangely on edge and jumpy as of late. Sometimes she'd fumble with the mug of tea she was drinking or sift through the day's mail with some sort of urgent need.

With a wary smile, Christine gratefully escaped the nervous atmosphere of the kitchen and went to her room.

* * *

_"Charles, lie down! You can't do this now. You need rest! Now, sit_ _down!"_

_With a grunt of frustration, Charles Daaé was shoved back down on the bed by a thoroughly exasperated Annette Giry, and erupted into another fit of shuddering coughs. It took several long and agonizing moments before he settled down, and Annette watched him carefully, grateful that his daughter was well beyond hearing range of the hospital room._

_"I need to see him...I have to be sure!" Charles groaned painfully after a few deep breaths._

_"What you need is to get healthy so I don't have to keep sending your daughter away just so she won't have to watch her father waste away!" Annette snapped, though regretted her harsh tone instantly when she caught a brief flash of guilt in his tired eyes._

_Charles sighed in resignation. "Then assure me, Ann, that the bastard is dead."_

_Annette sighed, remembering the very day of which the inspector had given her the news. The instant flood of relief that washed through her was enough to make her body nearly go weak. A body, she was told, had been found and identified as the very man who had been the source of so much grief for the now ill Charles Daaé and his family. It was over. They had the chance to finally be able to live in peace, and Christine would be free to pursue her talent in music. Annette recalled being completely overwhelmed with happiness, before the reality of Charles's failed health came rushing back. Why now? Why did his strength have to fail him just before the final moment of victory?_

_"The police said it was him," she answered her friend, letting her steady voice betray none of her emotions. "They said the man they found by the road fit the description perfectly. Apparently he managed to crawl away from the wrecked car before it exploded, but he died from injuries before anyone found him." With a loud sigh, Charles closed his eyes, letting the news wash over him._

_"At least God has enough courtesy to let a man die with some peace of mind," he quipped after a long moment._

_Annette gave him a stern look. "Don't talk like that, Charles."_

_Charles opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at Annette, who was clearly not amused. "I'd like to see my daughter, Ann; can you bring her to me?"_

_The two's gazes locked for a while, both stubbornly unwilling to relent but neither ready to proceed with the conversation that needed to be had. Annette finally gave a resigned nod and left to pick the thirteen year-old Christine up from school to see her dying father.

* * *

_

"Erik?"

The smooth, pleasant sound of a piano stopped abruptly, as if her usage of his name caught her angel off guard. After all, even though she had known his name for a while, she always found herself addressing him as an angel, or 'sir.'

"Yes, Christine?"

Christine bit her lip nervously as she sat upon one of the steps on the stage. This was going to either end up well, or very, very badly. "Do you mind if we end today's lesson early? I...kind of have something to do."

She held her breath, waiting for her teacher's response. Was he angry? Did he think she didn't want to sing with him anymore? Perhaps she should have phrased the question differently, or mentioned her troubles _before _she asked to be excused. _Way to go, Christine, _she chided herself. _You make it seem like you have to go buy a pair of shoes or get a bite to eat and my God why isn't he saying anything?_

"Oh?"

The word was spoken in a deep and bitter tone that, had her worries regarding her aunt not plagued her mind, she would have simply squealed 'never mind!' and sang some scales just to correct her mistake.

"If you have better things to do, Miss Daaé, perhaps you better rethink your priorities and alter your commitments accordingly."

Christine drew a nervous breath. By now she had realized that whenever her angel had addressed her so formally, he was less than pleased with her. Figuring it best not to beat around the bush, she didn't mask her concern as she told him of her troubles. "It's just...my aunt. She's been...there's...I think something might be wrong with her."

"Wrong?" She might have been mistaken, but was that an edge of sincere concern laced his tone?

"I...I don't know. She's just seemed too stressed lately. Like today, I only tapped her on the back this morning and she nearly jumped out of her skin and whacked me in the face. She was practically shaking, even though she said she was fine. I just...she's not normally like that, you know?"

"Yes."

"And I just think something is off. Liam's coming over for dinner tonight so I'd like to talk to her before that."

"I see." There was a moment of quiet during which Christine felt her heart fluttering rapidly in her chest. "Of course you may leave early to be with your aunt, Christine. I would not deprive you of that. How are you getting home?"

Christine let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you! Oh, I almost forgot! I got my license two days ago! I have Aunt Annette's car. She thinks I'm shopping," she couldn't hold back the edge of guilt in her tone, but she nonetheless smiled as her teacher offered her a distracted congratulations and left the stage.

"Wait..." the voice caused her footsteps to stop immediately and she gazed into the darkness. For a few seconds there was silence, as if her angel were contemplating what to say. She thought, maybe, he wasn't going to say anything more before he spoke. "Know that...if something _is _wrong, if your aunt needs anything, you will come to me."

Christine nodded quietly before exiting the auditorium, a little stunned. All of their lessons, which occurred mostly every other day of the week and Saturdays, sometimes included a brief conversation about Christine's personal life. Her teacher had always listened to Christine, often distantly inquiring about little things like school and her friends, but he would remain oddly silent when she would mention her aunt. At first, Christine had suspected that her angel of music perhaps blamed her aunt for her own lack of musical training, but his utter lack of concern when it came to Aunt Annette seemed to run deeper than simple resentment.

Now, she was taken aback at the sudden noticeable interest in her teacher's tone when she mentioned her aunt's possible troubles. Despite her puzzlement, Christine remained extremely grateful that her angel would be there to watch over both she and her aunt.

She just hoped there wouldn't be any reason to.

* * *

_"How're you feeling?"_

_Charles smiled sadly at his thirteen year-old daughter, who eyed him with wide and concerned brown eyes. Not willing to watch those chocolate orbs fill with sadness anymore, he promptly lied: "A little better, sweetheart."_

_The brightness of her face as she practically beamed and squeezed his hand sent a thrill of joy in his weakening heart. How long had it been since she'd smiled? Since she'd laughed? He couldn't even recall the last time she'd sang._

_"Daddy, when will they let you go home?"_

_Her question sent a pang of guilt through him. Home. Would he ever see it again? Would he ever get the chance to play the violin for Christine as she fell asleep in her room? Would he ever get to live one actually _free _moment in his home now that the object of his fears and paranoia was finally dead?_

_"I...I'm not sure, Chrissy." He cursed his weakness as he felt the tears well in his eyes. No, he would not let his own fear and vulnerability reveal itself in front of his daughter. He wanted to see that smile again._

_"Can you sing for me?"_

_He looked away. It seemed that after each passing moment of silence, Christine's expression became more somber, more fearful as the realization he had hoped to keep from her dawned. "Not now, Christine."_

_"Why not?" He could hear the crack in her voice as tears filled in her own eyes. _She has eyes just like her mother, _he mused absently._

_Before he could think of a lie to tell his daughter, she continued. "It's bad, isn't it?" The question came out barely a whisper, but his heart cried out as the now broken girl nodded in realization. "All this 'it's gonna get better, Christine,' and 'your father will be home soon' are all just lies, right? I'm not blind, you know. Just 'cause I don't show it...doesn't mean...it...it doesn't mean..." Her voice faltered as tears began to stream down her face and she brushed them away, ashamed._

_"Shh, it's okay, Christine. Come now, why don't you sing for me? I can't remember the last time I heard your voice."_

_Christine looked away, seemingly unable to hold look at his face, which he was sure was gaunt and terribly pale. "It was last April," she mumbled. Charles looked at her with questioning eyes and she raised her head to meet his gaze. "I was mad because Liam had spilled orange soda in my hair earlier that day and hadn't even apologized, and you tried to get me to forget about it by getting me to sing some stupid song."_

_Charles allowed himself to smile fondly at the memory of his pouting daughter, arms folded and practically seething at her best friend's immaturity. _"Boys are so dumb!" _She had ranted about ten times that night. But when she had sang that 'stupid song,' a song he remembered being taught by his own mother years ago, her troubles vanished almost instantly and he beamed proudly in the glow of her angelic voice._

_"Why haven't you sung since?" Charles asked softly, reaching up to brush a curly lock of brown hair out of her face. He was crushed when she shifted away and brushed it aside herself._

_"I guess I've realized there's no point," she answered simply, her voice cold. "You...you've been sick for a while, dad. Maybe you haven't exactly shown it..."_

_Charles blinked, but forced himself to keep his eyes on her._

_"...But you haven't been yourself for a while. You haven't played...haven't sung for longer than I have. Why would I want to?"_

_"You're better than I am."_

_He hoped he could draw a smile from her pretty face, but she remained still. "You aren't going to get better, are you?" The question was spoken as a statement of final comprehension, rather than an inquiry, and Charles found himself incapable of finding his voice. It seemed they stood there for hours, staring at one another...her begging for the answer she already know, he unwilling to watch his daughter's heart break._

_He was ashamed at the relief he felt when Christine ran out of the room.

* * *

_

Christine practically threw open the door and tossed her jacket and keys to the side. "Aunt Annette?" she called out, but she was only greeted with a lonely silence. "I'm home!"

She frowned slightly when she found the kitchen and living room empty. Normally she would come home to find her aunt sitting by the table reading a book or doing chores. But after a few moments of searching both the bedrooms and the downstairs area, she realized her aunt was not here.

Where was she?

There was no note left, and Christine had taken her aunt's car to the school for her lesson. "Aunt Annette?" Blatant worry was evident in her tone. "Are you here?"

_She would have left a note_, her mind reasoned. _She wouldn't have just left...and with the way she was acting..._

Suddenly the loud, obnoxious ringing of the telephone nearby forced her out of her mind's rationalizing and she yelped in surprise. After a brief second, she answered it with a sigh of relief. "Hello?"

Silence.

"Hello?" she tried again.

No answer. Christine was about to hang up when she heard a distinct rustle on the other line. Someone was there.

"Aunt Annette?" she called, her voice urgent and loud.

There was a click and the line went dead.

* * *

His eyes snapped open as the faint sound of a footstep reached his ears, echoing off the damp, dark walls of his home. Instinctively, his gloved hands reached for his roped weapon and he silently crept against the wall toward the tunnel entrance near the left. As soon as he heard the rustle of footsteps, he kept still in the shadows, cloaked in the darkness. He waited, his lasso clutched tightly in his fist as his eyes roved the pitch black darkness for an approaching figure. 

Within seconds, he spotted a vague outline of some form and lunched at the shape, violently wrapping the roped lasso around the intruder's neck and shoving them up against the wall of the tunnel. Tightening the rope just enough to evoke choked gasps, his hands on the weapon slackened when the trespasser mumbled a strangled: "Erik!"

With one skilled flick of the wrist, he removed the rope from the person's neck and took a step back, eyeing the intruder suspiciously for some recognition. It was a woman, he realized. He studied what characteristics he could make out in the darkness as the woman clutched at her neck and caught her breath.

It wasn't the dark hair, tied tightly in a bun that led to his recognition. It wasn't the thin nose and rather stern and worn facial expression.

It was the furious yet familiar penetrating glare she sent him that he plainly recognized even in the darkness.

"Hello, Annette," he murmured coldly, a wry smile playing upon his lips. "Well, isn't _this_ a pleasant surprise..."

* * *

**_A/N: _**What's the verdict? Too long? Too much maybe going on? Anything I should change? 

Please R&R! I won't know if this sucks unless you tell me. More reviews, more updates, people!

la M.R


	8. Giry Tells Two Lies II

**_A/N:_** This is mostly from Annette's POV. Hardly any Christine in this chapter, I'm afraid. Don't forget to review!

* * *

Stand and Watch It Burn: Giry Tells Two Lies II

_"Mrs. Giry?"_

_Annette jumped in surprise as she opened the front door of her home, nearly colliding with Detective Andrews, who stepped back a little and smiled. _

_"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Andrews! I'm just in a rush to get back to the hospital. Charles..."_

_"He isn't doing better, then?"_

_Annette simply shook her head. "I'm afraid...it won't be long until..." she drifted off and cleared her throat, composing herself. She had held it together for the past few weeks. No way was she going to fall apart right now, in front of someone else. "He's just relieved that all this mess is over, as are we all. Is there anything I can do for you?"_

_The man's pleasant expression grew somber, as if realizing the reason for his visit. "May I come in?"_

_A little taken aback, Annette slowly nodded and let the man inside her living room. She shut the door behind her and took a deep breath, facing the detective with a calm expression. "Is something wrong?"_

_Andrews gave her a knowing look and took a step toward her. "I think...I think you better sit down."_

_Nothing but pure dread filled Annette's heart at that moment.

* * *

_

"Hello, Annette," he murmured coldly, a wry smile playing upon his lips. "Well, isn't _this_ a pleasant surprise..."

"Erik..." Annette rasped, struggling to keep her anger in check. "Was that extremely necessary?"

The man gave a rather graceful but clearly unrepentant shrug as he replied, "I prefer to be cautious. I'm not inclined to visitors, as you know."

Annette rubbed the lingering pain from the skin on her neck as she peered at him warily in the shadows. He had not changed much, she noted. He was a little thinner then she recalled, but he had enough build to present himself as a confident, dangerous figure. The intricately carved white mask gleamed dangerously, fitting the right half of his face almost as if it were made perfectly for his features. He wore what was probably a black, dark cloak that blended him with the shadowy walls of the murky cave-like basement of his home. She could see, as he stepped into the candlelight, that his jaw was tensed and his mouth was set into a firm, thin line. His entire stance was stiff as he warily observed her, as if poised to strike the moment an opportunity presented himself.

They stood there for what seemed like hours, eyeing each other speculatively, waiting for the other to speak. Honestly, Annette did not even know what to say. She had regretted seeking him out the moment she stepped inside Willoughby Academy's century old walls. When she had stumbled and nearly fallen down an impossibly steep flight of stairs that led in neat spirals down past the basement of the school, she knew she made a mistake.

"As much as I enjoy this touching little reunion," his low, dangerous voice snapped her out of her reverie, "I find myself wondering why you've seen fit to invade my privacy and trespass upon my home, Madame."

His bitter sarcasm did not go unnoticed by Annette, who remembered that upon her arrival he had first addressed her by her name. He had been caught off guard then, but he was always able to adapt to any situation quickly. Still, she braced herself against his scathing remarks and imposing presence and regarded him coolly.

"And I'm wondering why you've seen fit to have conversations through the walls with my niece."

Although she knew the question had caught him off guard, he did not move a muscle. "If your niece wasn't left in a practically empty school hours after her dismissal each day, perhaps I wouldn't feel the need to save the child from her apparent abandonment."

He was purposely goading her, she knew, and she refused to let him win. "She doesn't need you to keep her distracted from her friends, _Erik_. If you want her to sing? Fine. I'll get her lessons. But you're practically depriving her of her social life."

Erik took a sudden step forward, his grey blue eyes now narrowed with contained anger. "Lessons? From some inadequate fool who will undo all the progress I've made on that girl's voice? That won't happen. Perhaps if you had the care to have allowed her training during her youth, unlocking her talent would not rely on me."

"You no nothing," Annette snapped, his words hitting a nerve. "Christine did not want to sing. She did not want lessons. I am...grateful...that she seemed to have let her guard down regarding music. But..."

"Wonderful," he interrupted, taking a few more approaching steps. "I'm glad you approve, Annette. Now, do tell me the real reason for your visit. I hardly think you would seek me out after three years simply to express your gratitude for my teaching capabilities."

Annette faltered. He had her at a disadvantage. He was only about a foot away, an nearly towered over her. His mask, though it had hardly ever intimidated her in all the years she had known him, seemed to give off a dangerous glimmer in the darkness, as it clashed with his black attire. She had to consciously keep her feet where they were in order to not retreat a few steps.

"I am going on a trip," she answered as firmly as she could. "For a few days, I am going to visit a friend in New York. Christine will be staying with her friend Liam until I return." She paused a bit, and seeing as he made no move to speak, continued. "I am asking you to look out for her while I'm gone. It's very important to me that you keep an eye on her, when you can. Take notice of her presence in school, that sort of thing."

Erik eyed her for a long moment, studying her closely. "She's seventeen. I'm sure that's old enough to protect herself from the big, bad world for a few days of your absence, Annette."

"Please, Erik. I am asking you for a favor. Please put three years ago aside for a few days, if not for me then for Christine." Annette did not try to sound desperate, but she hoped the pleading gaze in her eyes did not lead him to ask questions. She didn't need him to follow her like a hawk, in fact, that would probably make her more uneasy rather than reassured. She just needed someone to make sure she came to school each day, didn't disappear.

Erik seemed to consider her for a moment or two, before giving one gracious nod to the relieved Annette. Satisfied, Annette straightened her long wool skirt with the palms of her hands and walked back up the narrow tunnel that would eventually lead up several flights of stairs, through another tunnel, down a wet corridor and up through the basement door of the school.

As an afterthought, Annette stopped and turned around. Erik hadn't moved, and was still facing away from her. "Whatever you're doing...with the lessons, she's happier. She's almost as happy as...well, thank you." She turned around toward the tunnel exit, but stopped at the sound of his voice, low and less harsh, but still cold.

"I have only done what you and her father obviously did not care to do."

Annette pursed her lips and looked at a wet puddle of water in front of her. "Yes...well, we can't live in the past, can we?" It was spoken as melancholy statement rather than a question. "Goodbye, Erik," she finished softly. She may or may not have heard a muttered response as she disappeared through the tunnel's long corridors.

* * *

_"I won't!" Annette heard Christine cry as she embraced her father. "I won't!"_

_Regretting her timing, Annette cleared her throat awkwardly but remained on the outskirts of the hospital room, not wanting to disturb what was probably Charles's farewell to his daughter. After a moment, Charles gently lifted Christine's head from his chest and lovingly brushed some hair out of her eyes. She saw him smile at her, and before she knew it Christine had silently left the room._

_"I...I'm sorry I'm late..." she muttered to the emotionally and physically drained Charles, who dismissed her apology with a hand gesture. "Detective Andrews...stopped by."_

_"Oh?" Charles managed to quirk an interested eyebrow. Annette only nodded. "I meant to...give that kid a gift. He's...he's done a lot...more than I could ever ask for. He saved our family, he and his crew..." his voice sounded hoarse, as if every word he uttered took a considerable amount of effort. Annette swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I want you to...thank him for me..."_

_"You can thank him yourself," Annette stated firmly, but it only evoked a weak chuckle from her friend. She took a breath, bracing herself for what she was about to say, before Charles interrupted her._

_"I...want to thank you too, Ann..." he rasped. "You've given up a lot...just to...be with us. With Christine. It...it means a lot. I...don't think I ever had the pleasure of having a friend like you."_

_"Charles, please, you know I don't like it when you start..."_

_"Ann, listen to me. Listen." Annette looked into his faded eyes and tried to keep her breathing steady. "Take Christine somewhere. Don't raise her in this godforsaken town. Take her up north, where her mother grew up. Middletown. You don't need the memories in this place."_

_"Char—"_

_"Make sure she's happy. She finally can be. _You _finally can be. You don't have to worry about _him _anymore."_

_"Charles..." She knew, at that moment, her voice gave her away. Charles stopped talking and studied her intently._

_"What did...Andrews...want?"_

_"I...he...Charles..."_

_"Tell...me..." _

_Annette watched the heart monitor beep furiously as his pulse quickened and heart weakened. Her eyes widened and she moved to retrieve a nurse when Charles cold hand grasped hers, keeping her in place._

_"Please...tell me, Ann...that...he is gone."_

_Annette opened her mouth but no words spilled out. She noticed with panic that Charles' grip on her arm loosened considerably and he leaned back, his breathing increasingly shallow._

_"Ann...Tell her...I love her...and..."_

_"Charles!"_

_"...Tell me...promise me..._promise _me...she's safe. That he's gone."_

_Annette was vaguely aware of the racing footsteps of doctors and nurses as they approached the hospital room._

_"Tell me...promise me that I'm leaving an earth without him in it...Promise me...I'm not abandoning my...little girl. Promise me..."_

_She was forced to watch helplessly as the man she had grown close with for several years, the man whom she had shared loss with and experienced joy, gaze up at her with dying, pleading eyes. "He's gone," she forced a comforting smile upon her face as she squeezed his hand. "You can...leave with peace, Charles. He's...dead."_

_A small, weak smile appeared on his face and his eyes fluttered shut. The monitor flat-lined as the doctors rushed in the room, but it was too late._

_He had died believing they were rid of the monster. Would the truth have kept him alive, fighting? Would he even have wanted to hear the truth? She would never know. _

_Annette had never once let go of his hand. _

_

* * *

_

"Aunt Annette! You're back! You had me worried!"

Annette walked into the house as Christine jumped up fromthe couch and nearly ran over to her aunt. "I'm sorry, Christine," she replied truthfully. "I forgot to leave a note. I had to go run some errands."

"Oh. You could have called my cell phone and I would have come given you the car," Christine said, apologetically.

"Don't worry about it. I sometimes prefer taking the bus rather than driving myself." She entered the kitchen, Christine at her heels, and began taking out items to use for dinner. Noticing Christine hovering, an expression of nervousness and concern on her face, she stopped what she was doing and looked at her niece. "Something wrong?"

"I just..." Christine hesitated. "I'm just wondering if something's wrong. You seem a little...unlike yourself lately. I'm just worried. Is everything okay?"

Annette turned her attention back to the kitchen supplies, skillfully avoiding her niece's gaze. "I'm afraid I have a friend up in New York who is ill, Christine. In fact, I am going up for a few days to visit him, you see. I've talked to Liam's parents today, so you can stay with him. Is that alright?"

Christine's eyes widened and she frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry. I knew something was wrong, I was just worried. When are you leaving?"

Annette bit her lip, thinking. "As soon as possible."

Christine nodded sympathetically and sat by the table. "Well, I'm sure you being there will be a nice surprise," she said thoughtfully.

"Yes..." Annette replied. "Yes, I'm sure my visit will be very surprising."

Indeed. She, of all people, was probably the last person Detective Andrews would be expecting to show up at his home.

* * *

**_A/N_**: I realize there was probably more flashback stuff going on then actual stuff, but I hope you guys didn't hate it. PLEASE REVIEW! I can honestly say there's no way I'll want to keep going if I don't get any feedback telling me I should/shouldn't. I hope you enjoyed it!

BTW: Confused seems to be a generally accepted reaction as of now...don't worry, you'll get some answers in the next one, which will be finished/up depending on ALL OF YOU. So, hop to it, reviewers!

la M.R


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